The door of the cafe opened behind him, and quick footsteps approached. "Marshal Tyler!" the voice of Brenda Durand said. "I've been looking all over for you."
Cole sipped his coffee before swinging around slowly to face the young woman. As usual, Brenda didn't look happy. "Is something wrong, Miss Durand?" Cole asked.
"Is something wrong?" she repeated in an astonished tone. "My God, Marshal, I've heard all about how you arrested Simone McKay for murder last night! The woman's my business partner. I'd say something's wrong!"
Cole shook his head. "I don't see what this case has to do with your business holdings, Miss Durand."
"Simone McKay can't run the land development company and oversee the rest of our holdings from a jail cell!"
"Are you suggesting that I let her out?" Cole asked dryly, well aware that everyone else in the cafe was listening to this exchange.
"Of course not. If she killed that woman, she belongs behind bars." Brenda folded her arms across her bosom and looked intently at him. "I think I ought to be officially put in charge of the business."
Margaret Palmer came into the cafe then, breathing a bit heavily. "My goodness, Brenda, I can't keep up with you when you start rushing around like that," she complained. "What are you bothering the marshal about?"
"Your granddaughter's not bothering me, ma'am," Cole said with a polite nod to Margaret, "but she's asking me to do something that I can't do. I'm just a local lawman. I don't have any say over who runs a business or anything like that."
"Then you can't stop me from taking charge," Brenda pointed out. "Mrs. McKay can't do it anymore, so as an equal partner, I have every right to assume control."
"Now, I don't know—" Cole began.
"You said yourself this matter doesn't fall within your jurisdiction," Brenda said, a touch of glee creeping into her voice.
He had fallen neatly into her trap, Cole realized. By declaring himself powerless to force Simone to relinquish control of the business, he had also made it impossible for him to prevent Brenda from carrying out her plans. She was smart, he had to give her that. Too damned smart.
"I think I'll go over to the jail right now and tell her not to worry, that I'll take care of everything," Brenda went on, her smile widening.
"I don't think so," Cole said. "I might not be able to interfere in business matters, but I still make the rules when it comes to the jail. And all visitors have to be cleared with me or Deputy Casebolt."
Brenda's look of self-satisfaction disappeared instantly and was replaced with an angry pout. "You can't do that."
"Yes," Cole said. "I can."
"It's all right, Marshal," Margaret said. "We'll go through the proper channels, and we won't bother poor Mrs. McKay right now."
"But Grandmother—" Brenda exclaimed.
"No, dear, Marshal Tyler is right. We'll speak to Mrs. McKay another time."
"I reckon that's a good idea," Cole said. He regarded Brenda for a moment, then continued. "Besides, I'd be a mite careful if I was you, Miss Durand. You don't want to get Mrs. McKay's hackles up any more than they already are when it hasn't even been proven that she's guilty."
"But you arrested her!"
"I didn't have any choice. The evidence indicates she might have killed Becky Lewis. But determining the actual truth is a job for a court of law—and the circuit judge won't be around for nearly two weeks yet."
Brenda looked as though she wanted to throw her hands up in exasperation. "You don't honestly think there's a chance she's innocent, do you? The way I heard it, she was found with the bloody knife practically in her hand."
Cole reined in his temper, and in a tightly controlled voice said, "I'm not going to talk about the details of the case with you, Miss Durand, but I reckon there's always a chance somebody is innocent. And I intend to give Mrs. McKay every chance to prove that she is."
"You're wasting your time," Brenda sniffed.
Margaret put a hand on her granddaughter's arm. "Come along, dear. Let's give Marshal Tyler a chance to eat his breakfast. I think we've disturbed him enough for one morning, don't you?"
"I don't think anybody in this town knows what it is to be disturbed," snapped Brenda. "But they will once I'm in charge. There are going to be some changes made around here."
Determinedly Margaret steered Brenda toward the door. When they were gone, Rose Foster sighed behind Cole and said, "God help us all if that little brat does wind up running things."
"It won't come to that," Cole said as he turned back around to face the counter.
"Are you sure?"
It was Cole's turn to sigh. "I'll tell you the truth, Rose. I'm not sure of anything except that life can get a lot more complicated than a fella ever thought it could."
* * *
Cole didn't care much for the idea of visiting the undertaking parlor right after breakfast, but he wanted to make certain Becky Lewis's body was being tended to properly. He also wanted to pick up the knife that had been taken from her body.
Dr. Judson Kent was at the undertaker's when Cole got there. The physician was just emerging from the building, in fact. He gave Cole a chilly stare as the marshal approached, then nodded curtly. "Marshal Tyler," he said.
"Morning, Judson," Cole responded. "I hope you're not holding it against me that I had to do my job last night." He felt a little like a hypocrite as he made the statement. He had sure as blazes held it against Kent when he had spied the doctor kissing Simone a couple of nights earlier.
"If you were doing your job, Marshal," Kent said, "you'd be out trying to discover who really killed Becky Lewis. You and I both know that Simone McKay is incapable of such a violent action."
"How do we know that?" Cole asked, playing devil's advocate. "How much do we really know about her?"
"Enough," snapped Kent. "Enough to know that it's ludicrous to consider her a murder suspect."
"Don't worry, I intend to do some poking around. Just because Simone is in jail doesn't mean I'm going to stop investigating. In fact, I came over here this morning to get the knife that was stuck in the Lewis girl. Maybe it can tell us something."
Kent looked a bit uncomfortable. He stood there stiffly for a moment, pushing his lips in and out, then snorted and said, "I have the knife. I was going to bring it over to your office."
Cole had to wonder if Kent was telling the truth. Maybe what he had really intended was to switch the knife with another one, especially if there was something about the weapon to connect it to Simone. Cole was glad he had gotten there when he did. He held out his hand and said, "You can go ahead and give it to me now."
Kent hesitated, obviously reluctant to turn over the knife. Then he reached inside his coat and took out a small object wrapped in a handkerchief. Cole took it from him and unwrapped it.
This was the first good look he had gotten at the murder weapon. It was a perfectly ordinary kitchen knife with a blade about six inches long and a wooden handle with a decorative design carved into it. There was something familiar about it, Cole realized as he studied it. He frowned and said, "This reminds me of something . . . like I've seen one just like it before."
"You have," Kent said heavily. "You'll recognize it sooner or later, I expect, so there's no point in concealing its origin from you."
Cole snapped the fingers of his free hand. "The hotel," he said. "This is just like the knives they use in the kitchen and dining room of the Territorial House. Hell, it is one of those knives."
Kent nodded. "Yes, it is indeed. I recognized it, too."
"And Simone owns the hotel. She's in and out of there all the time."
'Yes, and it would have been quite easy for her to take one of the knives from the dining room," Kent said angrily. "But there are scores of other people who pass through that establishment. There are travelers, and there are people from here in Wind River who eat regularly in the dining room. Any one of them could have taken that knife just as easily."
"Maybe so, but you've got to admit this i
s one more thing that points at Simone."
"I don't admit any such thing—" Kent began, then stopped and looked past Cole along the boardwalk.
Cole turned and followed the doctor's gaze. He saw Michael Hatfield coming toward them, carrying a stack of newspapers. The young journalist wore a glum expression.
"What's wrong, Michael?" Cole asked. "I thought the next edition of the paper didn't come out until after the election."
"I had to print an extra," Michael replied. "Wind River's first one. I thought it would be exciting, but . . . it wasn't." He held up one of the papers so that Cole and Kent could see the headlines.
mrs. mckay arrested, the largest one read, mayoral candidate withdraws from election was underneath in smaller type.
Cole reached out to take the paper. "What the hell—?"
Kent took one of the newspapers from Michael as well. "She can't do that!" he exclaimed. "The election is day after tomorrow!"
"She's done it," Michael said. "I got a message from the jail that she wanted to talk to me early this morning, before sunup. I went over there, and Deputy Casebolt let me talk to Mrs. McKay. She said she was quitting the race for mayor and told me to print a single-sheet extra to cover the story."
"She's given up," Kent said hollowly. "By God, I never thought Simone McKay had any quit in her!"
"I guess she figured that it was better for the town this way," Cole said, his voice quiet.
"Better?" repeated Kent. "How? Without Simone in the race, Hank Parker will be running unopposed. He'll win!"
"Yep, I reckon so. But if Simone had stayed in and won, Wind River's mayor would be in jail facing murder charges. It'll be at least two weeks before Judge Sharp comes through here to hold court, maybe longer."
"The town could have survived two weeks with its mayor in jail," Kent said in disgust. "This . . . this is outrageous! I'm going to go over to that jail and have a talk with her!"
"You're welcome to try," Michael said. "I already did my best to change Mrs. McKay's mind, and it didn't get me anywhere. Maybe you'll have better luck, Dr. Kent."
Kent crumpled the single sheet of newsprint in his hand, not even seeing the pained look that crossed Michael's face as he did so. "For the sake of this town, I had better convince her," he said, then turned on his heel and strode off toward the marshal's office and jail.
"What do you think, Marshal?" Michael asked Cole. "Did Mrs. McKay do the right thing?"
"I don't know. I wish I did."
Cole looked down at the newspaper in his hand, but he wasn't really seeing the words any longer. He was thinking about what Wind River would be like with Hank Parker as the mayor and Brenda Durand running just about everything else. He had faced a lot of dangerous situations in his time, but that prospect was downright scary.
It was time for him to get busy. If Simone was innocent— and now he hoped more than ever that she was—then Cole still had himself a killer to catch.
Chapter 14
It was early afternoon when Cole ambled into the Pronghorn Saloon. Hank Parker wasn't there, which was exactly the way Cole wanted it. He had been keeping an eye on the place for the past couple of hours, waiting for Parker to leave.
Finally the burly saloonkeeper had emerged from the building and headed toward the general store. Cole waited until Parker went inside the emporium before starting down the street to the Pronghorn.
The saloon was fairly busy, considering the time of day. Some railroad workers were clustered around one of the poker tables. Four cowboys from one of the outlying ranches were at one end of the bar, laughing and talking and buying watered-down drinks for a couple of tired-eyed percentage girls. Two more men, prospectors from the looks of them, nursed beers at the other end of the bar.
Only one bartender was on duty at the moment, a man Cole vaguely recognized. After a moment of thought, he recalled that the bartender's name was Bud.
The talk in the room died down a little at Cole's entrance, but it resumed its normal level by the time the marshal reached the bar. Evidently nobody in here had any reason to worry about the presence of the law.
At least, none of the customers did. Bud was frowning as Cole came up and put his left hand on the hardwood. Cole nodded to the bartender and said, "Howdy."
"Mr. Parker ain't here," Bud answered without being asked. "He'll be back in a little while."
Cole shrugged and shook his head. "Don't make any nevermind to me if Parker's here or not. I didn't come to talk to him. I just want to buy a beer. Hot and dry out there today."
Bud's frown deepened. "I always thought you did your drinking somewheres else, Marshal."
"Your boss is always bragging about how the Pronghorn has the coldest beer in Wind River," Cole said with a grin. "Thought I'd give it a try and see if he's lying."
Bud picked up a glass from a tray on the backbar and began drawing the beer. "Mr. Parker don't lie about nothing," he said.
"Is that a fact?" Cole picked up the glass the bartender placed in front of him, took a healthy swallow of the beer, and nodded in satisfaction. "That's good, and as cold as Parker claims it is. I reckon he's a truthful man after all. How about you, Bud?"
The bartender looked surprised. "What do you mean, Marshal?"
Cole took another sip of the beer. "You always tell the truth, Bud?"
"Well . . . about as much as the next fella, I reckon."
"Good. Then you can tell me if Parker was in here last night."
Cole thought he saw a faint flicker of apprehension in the man's eyes. Bud hesitated, then said, "Why, sure he was in here. He's always in here. This is his place."
"Lives upstairs and everything, doesn't he?"
Bud nodded. "That's right."
"So he was here all night?"
Again the slight hesitation. "I didn't see him leave."
Cole didn't give any sign that he didn't believe the answer. Instead he nodded and said, "That's good. You know Becky Lewis, Bud?"
The bartender's jaw tightened, and his narrow features flushed a little. "I know what you're trying to do," he said angrily. "You're trying to get me in some sort of trouble. Hell, yes, I know who Becky Lewis is . . . I mean, was. Everybody in town does that can read, and most of them that can't."
Cole shook his head. "I didn't ask if you knew who she was, Bud. I asked if you knew her."
"Why would I?" Bud asked, his voice even more surly now.
"She used to work the saloons in Wind River," Cole said with a shrug. "Parker had his tent then, and I reckon she was in there quite a bit."
"I wouldn't know about that," Bud said. "I never went to work for Mr. Parker until after he built this place."
"Is that so? But you were around town before that, I recollect. You'd know Becky Lewis if you saw her, wouldn't you?"
Bud took a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe."
Cole leaned closer to him. "Seen her around here lately, Bud? Right here in the Pronghorn, maybe?"
"No," Bud snapped with absolutely no hesitation. "No, I ain't seen her—and now I reckon I never will."
"Oh? I thought you might have." Cole's tone was mild, not threatening or accusing at all. He had already learned what he wanted to know.
Bud's initial hesitation and then his certainty as he denied ever seeing Becky Lewis in the Pronghorn were more than enough to convince Cole that he had been right.
There was a connection between Becky and Parker, and Bud had orders not to say anything about it.
Parker had tipped his hand by paying that visit to Michael Hatfield, though. No one else stood to gain by pointing Becky Lewis and her blackmail at Simone McKay like a loaded gun. That had been obvious from the first.
But if Parker and the Lewis woman had been working together to make life miserable for Simone, then Cole couldn't see any reason why Parker would have wanted his accomplice dead. Without Becky, there was no way for Parker to continue indirectly blackmailing Simone. Parker wasn't the kind of man to kill a cash cow.
Co
le picked up his beer, drained the glass, and dropped a coin on the bar beside the empty. "Thanks for the beer and the conversation, Bud," he said. He turned and walked out of the Pronghorn as deliberately as he had entered.
Parker was nowhere to be seen on the street. Probably still inside the general store, Cole decided as he headed toward the marshal's office.
Hank Parker didn't like to be pushed; Cole knew that about him quite well. Whenever he thought somebody was prodding him, he prodded in return.
That was why Cole had gone to the Pronghorn. He knew Bud would report the conversation to Parker. He had given Parker the first push.
Now he would wait and see what happened when Parker pushed back.
* * *
Judson Kent entered his office to find Jeremiah Newton fully dressed and waiting for him. The doctor frowned and said, "What are you doing out of bed, Jeremiah?"
"You said I could go home today, Brother Judson," replied the big blacksmith. "That's what I intend to do."
"I said you might be able to go home," Kent corrected as he hung up his hat and coat. He went behind the desk and sat down, Reginald's skull grinning over his shoulder. "I can't make that determination until I've examined you again," Kent went on.
"Then go ahead and examine me," urged Jeremiah. "I have things to do, Doctor. Important things."
"I'm sure that you do. Very well." Kent stood up and came around the desk again. He bent over and studied Jeremiah's eyes for a moment, then took the blacksmith's wrist and searched out a pulse among the thickly corded muscles. When he was satisfied with that, he took a stethoscope from a drawer in the desk and listened to Jeremiah's breathing.
"Well, you certainly seem to be hale and hearty," Kent announced a moment later. "How's that arm? Much pain in it this morning?"
"It's still a little stiff and sore," Jeremiah admitted, "but I'll be careful about not using it too much. There's no real reason to keep me here any longer, is there?"
"Not really." Kent smiled thinly. "All right, Jeremiah, you can go home. But try to take things a bit easier for a while, and if you experience any dizziness or headache or stomach upset, you come back to see me right away, do you understand?"
Judgement Day (Wind River Book 6) Page 14
